The nineth Bride
by romanticofthewintertime
Summary: (AU) In Ancient Egypt a deformed Prince was born to a cruel ruler, now Erik must learn how to love from the beautiful Christine Daae, his father's latest Bride
1. Chapter 1 Rain

**Chapter one- Rain**

It rarely rains in Egypt. The golden land stretches out forever under the cerulean sky glitter and gleam over the pyramids where the Pharaoh rested in his great alabaster palace. Surrounded by his great royal wife and concubines and wine and sweet meats. The throne of marble cool beneath him, the room like that of a snowcap in its coolness for only sunlight lit the great room where the King spends his mornings awaiting an audience with the various people whom over he presided. During this time he could do what he liked and in this time of year it was common practice for them to rest their eyes. Doze, as he watched for a rare cloud to pass by and shade them from the sweltering heat that was to be frank not pleasant but still not entirely unbearable.

For the autumn was indeed the most pleasant time of year for the Egyptians. The warmest with just a hint of cooling in the desert air, the only issue was the flies which were brought in with the pleasant weather. He flicked the flies away from his face and adjusted the silk coverlet of his headdress and leaned back with all regality. He was a content man, slender and handsome in his age. He had broad shoulders, huge arms firmly muscled and dark ebony skin with jade eyes more beautiful and bright then the stone itself. His skin was dark; the collar of lightly charred wood after the sun has baked it with its benevolent heat to that deep brown shade.

But that night it would rain for the King was out of sorts, he was in fact only beautiful when it came to his body. He was vein and spoiled, his beauty was his pride and because he is very narcissistic he was also cruel. Believing he was the greatest king to ever walk the earth. Better than his forefathers and the Kings that came before him and as such was insistent that he have a son. Of course, there was nothing particularly strange about wanting a son when one had a throne to which needed an heir but it was just the brutality of which he went about it.

He had many wives and concubines, but none of them yet had given him what he desired the most. He _had _sired several children, many daughters and from many beautiful women, all dead by his own hand. He had fathered them and when they had come out female he had thrown them into the Nile to be gobbled up by the vicious crocodiles clacking their chops for the meat. He would give them (the mothers) two tries and if she failed to bear him a son then he would have her killed and meet the same fate as her children who were of no use to him.

For twelve years it had been this way, since his eighteenth birthday when the Pharaoh, too young to know what it meant to wield such power had let it travels straight to his head. Seven wives and 14 children in twelve years and still no son were to be had of his body. But tonight he would take another woman as his bride and so he awaited her arrival, stoic and cold as his jade eyes watched the guards bring her to him and he smiled with a kind of cynical pleasure mixed with surprise. He had thought they might bring him some girl from Persia, another brown haired doe-eyed girl who said yes your majesty and nothing else.

The prospect was something he was dreading, not because he was opposed to the objectification of women. Far from it, to him women were just tools for making him a son and for coddling that son into manhood where his mother would become inconsequential. It was mainly his own boredom with that particular kind of woman and wanted something more exotic. It seemed like his guard had read his mind for the woman he brought along with him in robes of crème and shimmering gold. The guard nodded to him as he dragged her forward by a rope causing her to stumble ungracefully.

"Your Majesty, she is here," said the captain and gave her a hard yank.

"Thank you," he smiled as she yelped.

"Leave us…" he said and the soldier did as he was told for no one ever disobeyed the Pharaoh or else.

"P-please…" she started shakily.

"Be silent in front of the Pharaoh!" the guard snapped, slapping her cheek so hard that she yelped.

"I am sorry sir…" she said to the guard who was now leaving.

He raised his hand to silence her and then slowly, deliberately building the moment climbed down from his seat. This girl, she was young no more than a child really and she was pale. No desert water lily was she; her hair was golden and her eyes more silver than the moon. He stopped in front of her and lifted the white gossamer veil away from her face and he smiled in pleasure for she was indeed beautiful. He licked his lips and then bent down to taste the flesh of her earlobe quickly. She whimpered in fright but he felt no remorse; he could do what he wanted with this girl. She was his after all.

Still, it might amuse him to humor the girl and make her feel more comfortable he liked them to be comfortable. They were more complacent that way easier to make a baby with a cooperative partner than a frigid one. So he took out his knife, the silver blade winked in the hot sunlight and with a whooshing sound he raised it and brought it down fast. The girl shrieked in fright as he brought it towards her hands but stopped when she felt her bonds being sliced loose. Her breath came out in a rush of relief and she looked like she might faint at any moment. It amused him.

"There isn't that better?" he asked, barely hiding the smirk flirting with the corners of his chiseled mouth.

She nodded rapidly, "Yes…" she squeaked.

He laughed, "Yes what?" he asked his laughter hiding an ill-concealed threat.

She had best learn to respect him or else, she would be crocodile food just like the others who had come before her. The last woman who had not addressed him properly had been locked in a dungeon for years. He felt no guilt over it; he was the son of the great Re. The lord of the sun and by his power was the Pharaoh blessed with divine immunity from the rules of the lower classes. He was born into respect and demanded it at every instance with his life. From absolutely everyone around him, all his other wives had done this and were honored to be his wife. She had been briefed on what she in for, he had allowed her that at the very least and she knew she had made a mistake for her eyes widened.

"Yes _your majesty…" _she said and he nodded.

"Good girl," he mocked with paternal affection, "What is your name?"

"Madeline…" she squeaked.

"Madeline," he liked the way it sounded on his tongue, foreign and soft in its syllables.

"Yes your majesty…" she trembled when she spoke.

"How old are you…" he asked, not that he cared but it was better if they were relatively young easier to make a child with.

"Fourteen your majesty…" she mumbled looking at the floor.

The Pharaoh licked his lips, she was young he liked that. Young women were more fertile than women his age. They were also pure, virgins more than likely. He preferred virgin girls, women that only he was allowed to touch, for his eyes only and no other man. He did not take spoiled goods to his bed. If the great King was to take a woman she was to be exclusively his for no great man shared his bed with women who had shared their bed with another. She looked at him wide eyed when he looked into her face, she smelled of some sort of flower that he had not scented before in these parts.

Or so he thought, when he inhaled again it was soft and gentle, a mix of water lilies and midnight blooming jasmine. It smelled sweet and fragrant, made his blood race and pulse quicken and he eyed her more closely. He noticed then that she was well-endowed and slender, this pleased him. He liked slender women, liked them to be slight and slender and small so that he could crush them underneath him. It made him feel almost Godly to do so when she was under him and he was in complete control. He was going to enjoy this, he was certain.

"Madeline, you are not Egyptian… "he mused, gazing at her expectantly.

"No, your majesty, I am from Bosherville in France…" she told him quietly, "My father sold me here."

"Did he indeed?" he asked smiling; all the better a woman sold into slavery had no right to refuse him.

"Yes I was a dancer back home…" she said sadly.

That sparked something in the King's eyes, and he licked his lips with anticipation. He had heard rumors of how sweet and soft they were. He smiled at her, a handsome smile that both invited and threatened her. She was shaking, he could sense her fear, her awe of him and he loved it. He wanted to kiss and so he did just that for he always did exactly what he wished. Madeline stiffened as his lips covered hers and then she gasped and he took full advantage. He took his time, explored her mouth and finding the taste to his liking pulled back.

"Your majesty…" she breathed, flushing crimson in both cheeks.

"I trust you know why you are here then, Madeline from France?' he asked.

"No your majesty I have only just arrived and…" he stopped her.

"You are here to become my wife, isn't that wonderful…" he seemed to smile.

Her eyes widened, "But your majesty I don't know your name even."

"Silence," he hissed, "My name is Rasheed, now you will marry me and I trust you will enjoy my company."

"Yes Rasheed," she used his name for the first time.

And so it was done. The wedding was held and she pretended to like it. The marriage was consummated and she pretended to like it. She got pregnant soon after, and pretended to be happy. Then one bitter yet rarely rainy night in October she gave birth to a son and for the first time she was happy. Until she looked down at his face and she cried. For the baby she held in her hands was not a handsome prince but a monster. And the Pharoah in his horror had stolen the boy from his mother's breast and called him a monster that he was. The young queen wept and held him close to her and begged her husband to see reason and that at last he had his son in the very least. No one knew of the reason for the boys ugliness only that it was and so in the way of the ancients, the rain was blamed. And so the child was called Erik, for the spirit of the rain which came his birthday. And so the prince was given a mask, in spirit of the moon that lit his ugliness.

**First Phantom story please tell me how I did?**


	2. Chapter 2:The Bet

**Chapter two**

**The Bet**

It was on a particularly golden morning that Rasheed was holding the young Prince, now five days old. He sat on his father's lap looking at him and saying nothing, not that this was unusual for it was common for infants to do this. It had been nearly one year now since the king had sired his son and he had indeed grown fond of the boy. To say he loved him would have been too far, for the Great Pharaoh did not love anyone besides himself. But he had at the very least learned to tolerate the boy on some level, so long as he was veiled behind the mask.

As long as he did not have to look at him he was fine, in fact he sort of liked his son when he did not have to see him. In truth the Pharaoh was ashamed, in his magnificence had created a child of such hideousness. It was still hard to believe that he, the handsome man that he was had made a monster when his daughters, useless as they were had been so beautiful. He did not make ugly children, and to his credit the _rest_ of the boy was absolutely stunning just like his father. Muscled even as a child, he was slender and slightly lighter than his father due to the nature of his mother's complexion.

He had wondered if the child he had with her would be pale the way she was or have his skin. Either way it mattered not, as long as he fit the bill of order which were two very important things in particular. The child had to be male check on that point and then on top of all that he had to be stunning. Rasheed supposed he was it was just not in a good way, he was stunning in oh Holy Re what on earth is that kind of way. It was truly an awesomely horrible sight that no prince should live with and one of the ugliest things the king had ever seen.

Rasheed felt about the boy the way that a child might feel when discovering something spooky beneath their bed sheets within the darkest hours of the night. Those hours just before sunrise in total darkness called the witching hour of three a.m. where the demons rose to devour the souls of naughty children asleep in their beds. It was true his face was an awesome failure on the Pharaoh's part, for his ugliness was something of the underworld and yet the rest of him was so beautiful. It was wondrous and unexplainable but still mystifying in the most phenomenal way. For aside from his deformation the rest of him was gorgeous.

Instead of ebony skin he had skin the color of melting copper mixed with bronze to make kind of a rusty rose gold hue. He had his father's eyes and then the strangest thing, his mother's golden hair. Despite his face it was a strange thing to have a fair-haired Prince when his dark hair should have been the one to dominate although the King did not really mind the hair color. His son was a special Prince, and he did not need to look like anyone else. He was the future Ruler of the Greatest Kingdom on earth and if the great Re chose to favor his chosen with a head made of gold then so be it.

After all Osiris, in his bitterness had given him the face of a spirit of the underworld doomed from his wickedness. His son was the visage of a man who was condemned to wonder the afterlife in wretchedness rather than peace. Rasheed assumed naturally, that the Gods were envious of him of course had taken it out on his son. But the eyes of the boy which weren't obscured by the mask, they were the feature which he was most proud of. They were his, such beautiful jade eyes and the mark that he was indeed the son of the King.

Not that there was any question, she had been pure when he had taken her to be his wife. The Pharaoh licked his lips as he recalled that night with the vivid memory of his forefathers. Her in the cold sheets, silk rustling as he did what men were put on this earth to do. He had enjoyed it, liked her soft young body and long hours exploring her while she did what women were meant to. Get pregnant with his son and bare him.

But it was one golden morning when the boy shocked him for he had never heard such a thing come out of the child before. For he had never taken care of the boy before, he had better things to do. When he had been born he had been angry and had refused to hold and coddle the boy. If she wanted to keep the child then he would be her responsibility and that was it. He had left glared at her and then he had some kind of cruel laugh where she was concerned. He decided to see just how badly she wanted this monster that had come out of her.

"Kiss him," he ordered noting his wife's fear at the sight of her son.

"Please don't make me…" she looked sick to her stomach at the thought.

"_Do as I say!" _he shouted, grabbing her chin with such brutality that it left a violet bruise on her chin where he had pressed.

She cried out and he felt his pulse quicken as his body enjoyed her pain, "Husband please you are hurting me!" she whimpered in a panic.

"Do it…" he hissed venom lacing the soft command.

"I cannot…" she looked down ashamed of herself.

He liked her weakness it amused him. "Then the child must be disposed of." The Pharaoh said in a nonchalant way as though he were discussing the sunshine outside.

"No!" she cried holding the baby to her stomach for fear that he might suckle nourishment from her breast.

"Yes," he smiled, liking her anguish, "Now will you do it, or shall I?"

"Please your majesty…" she begged, hoping to appeal to his better nature with flattery.

But alas the attempt failed for the King _had _no good nature and said coolly, "You or me, it is your choice.

She said nothing.

"Hurry up or I shall make the choice for you." He said in a tone that was both coaxing as well as a threat.

Again she offered no response.

"You are trying my patience," he said coldly this time, **"Make your choice!" **His voice rose to a shout and he spat on her cheek in the process.

Madeline wiped her face where his saliva had landed and kept her silence.

Now he was truly angry, having lost his patience he snapped, "Very well, I will dispose of the creature for you _my wife_."He delivered the last two words with a mixture of raging sarcasm.

"No _you won't." _ Madeline finally said in an emphatic whisper.

For perhaps the first time in his life the mighty Pharaoh was left speechless. Did this woman just dare to defy his direct orders? Well he could not have that. If he let one person disobey him then they all might get the idea to do so. This might lead to a so-called revolution where those lesser beings he had been forced to look after would try to overthrow him. His guards were strong yes but only so much so, and the King was no fool, vain and handsome yes but no fool. He knew that even with all their weapons impossible for them to defeat the whole of Egypt. If the people ever figured out that there were more of them than there was of him he could lose everything. It was a risk he was unwilling to take.

He tried to make this stupid girl understand this, "It is nothing personal my dear…" he cajoled in the most condescending voice.

"Nothing personal?" she repeated in horrified outrage, "You are ordering me to kill our child and it's nothing personal. It doesn't get much more personal than that!"

"Oh come now, stop being such a child!" he laughed mockingly.

Tears sprang to her eyes, "I am a child," she sobbed, "You are a monster!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, "_What_ did you just say to me?"

"You are a monster!" she shrieked with sudden vigor, "You forced yourself on me! I was fourteen years old!"

Her sudden courage was thwarted as he slapped her cheek so hard that she hit the wall. Hot sticky blood ran down her nose. Madeline fingered her nose and winced realizing that it was broken she covered it with the back of her hand. She wiped it and smeared blood all across her knuckles, her husband unconcerned and looking rather bored with her pain. He had done enough damage to her for one morning and now he was bored with her. But still, he did not like when she defied him and he would break that spirit out of her if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Need I remind you what you are!" he snarled, "A slave you belong to me, now give me the monster!"

The Pharaoh made a move to wrench the child from her arms but she would not let go. This angered him, how dare she resist him when she was nothing more than a common slave! No one else wanted her and she should be grateful that he had married her in the first place when there were so many women dying to be his bride. His arrogance was pricked and his pride wounded and he did not like it one bit. He had ordered this woman to do something and she had best do exactly what he told her less she face the ultimate punishment. To be eaten alive in the boiling water of the river along with all the others.

"No…I will do it…" Madeline told him not wanting her child to suffer. "Just give me time…"she pleaded softly.

He arched one eyebrow almost to his headdress, "Time?"

"Yes," something lit her eyes, mischievous and bright as an idea hit her. A way to save her son, she said slowly, "Let's play a game…" she whispered seductively, hating herself for the tone of her voice.

Again the raised eyebrow, "a game?" he repeated.

"Yes, a little bet," again the coaxing whisper she felt so guilty of for using.

He licked his lips, pulse beating with excitement. "Go on…" he drawled lazily.

"You give me one night with him, if I can do as you ordered and kiss him by morning then him and I both live." She said evenly.

He blinked a cruel smile twisting his lips, "and if you can't?"

Madeline gulped but did not waver, if she backed down from her own challenge they were both doomed. "Then you can 'dispose' of us both." She told him with a straight face.

His smile was unchanged, "Done." He nodded.

"Thank you," sighed Madeline in relief.

The Pharaoh was cruel in his laughter, "Don't thank me…" he warned. "I will be back in the morning to end your…" he paused to enjoy his threat to her, and the look of fear in her eyes was almost enough for him…almost.

"What…" she breathed.

"Stay of execution." The smile he gave her was cunning and sly.

The Pharaoh walked out of the room leaving her holding her infant as he slammed the huge marble doors with a penetrating sense of finality. He was confident that he would win the bet she had made with him and regret her folly. Realizing too late what a fool-hearty mistake it had been to challenge the King. Then he would be rid of her entirely and that thing he had created by mistake. With this in mind he sent for his favorite concubine and they indulged in their sin till the morning sun blazed high above the sands and tombs of his fathers.

After kicking the wench from his chambers he washed in the warm waters of the river, brought to him by the servants. They were of course the other mistresses who spread the water over him in a way to cause his body a very lustful reaction so that he gave himself to every one of them in their turn. Not caring too much about his pact with the woman he spent the next 48 hours indulging himself in all forms of carnal pleasure. With breaks to take part in the basic needs of eating, getting drunk on his own wine and sleeping loudly from the aforementioned drunkenness.

When at last he woke from his stupor remembering the bet he stormed over to the nursery, expecting to win. He came upon his wife right where he had left her in the nursery with the boy. She was sobbing and cradling him to her naked breast as he sucked the milk with the greed of a pig. He was healthy, if nothing else he had the thirst a young boy should have. The Pharaoh smiled, he could not help it despite what he thought of his appearance it did him good to be eating that way. It showed strength of will on his part, a good survival instinct which was essential in raising a good King.

It made a glimmer of pride swell in his heart that was one kind of child he did make, healthy and strong. **'It is a cruel joke that one such as me created such a disgusting _thing…'_ **he thought as he heard the boy squealing loudly.

But then there was the way her head was turned away from him as she wept and could not look at him. He had a cloth over his face and her head was craned on her neck so that she did not have to look at him. The king smiled wickedly this would be easier than he thought. Of course, nothing was ever hard for him to be honest. He is, after all the morning and the evening star and so his word was law and to be taken in absolution. There was no discussion or debate over his orders, if someone dared to question him they were simply removed and never heard of again.

She wanted to keep the boy she would have to kiss him right then and there in front of him. He swaggered into the room, all cockiness and arrogance in a smile like that of a wolf on the prowl for its next meal. Madeline turned, holding the child away from her as her eyes widened in fear of him and he loved it in a kind of sick way. Rasheed was sick on his own power and pride, sick with twisted pleasure of the control the abuse brought him. Madeline knew how her husband enjoyed her pain; he got aroused only when he was hurting her in the far reaches of the night.

But then she did the impossible, she looked at her monstrous child and in a voice sweeter than nectar whispered, "Shush Erik dear, mother's here, mother loves you…"

And then to the Mighty One's horror she met his eyes, silver mixed with jade and she bent down over the baby swaddled in silk. Rasheed watched in shock as his child bride moved her hand to his face, both confident and shaking at the same time. Then in one fluid motion she stripped away the mask from his face and stroked the blonde hair from his jade eyes while he cooed and gurgled with that eternal joy that infants possess. She touched him stroked his horrible face, before nodding towards the King and placing her lips on the child's forehead.

A/N:Sorry for the wait took my little sister out of town for her birthday just got home last night.


End file.
